


The Most Powerful Witch

by London_Halcyon



Series: Origin of a Mad Witch [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Hogwarts Mystery
Genre: Bullying, Gen, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Revenge, Video Game: Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-03 17:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19468486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/London_Halcyon/pseuds/London_Halcyon
Summary: Merula has always put more stake in power than popularity. When Emily Tyler humiliates Ismelda in front of everyone, Merula decides that someone needs to be taught a lesson. Publicly.AKA: "We all wanted to see this happen to Emily"





	1. Chapter 1

Ismelda was crying. Merula didn’t know what was more astonishing—that that was possible or that she didn’t know why. Lizard had been the one to inform her, stopping her in the common room before she could make her way to the dormitory. “Ismelda’s in there,” she had said. “She’s been crying her eyes out for an hour.”

“What?” Merula exclaimed in disbelief. “What happened?” 

“I don’t know. There was a commotion in the Courtyard earlier, but I wasn’t there.” 

Merula continued to the dormitory with no plan for what to do when she got there. It was hard to believe that anything could upset Ismelda. She was at constant war with the world, and she wasn’t weak enough to let it attack back. But Lizard had been right. When Merula entered the otherwise empty room, she found Ismelda curled up on her bed as if asleep. It was obvious, though, that she was only trying to appear asleep. Her shoulders trembled, and Merula could hear her quiet sobs, which were muffled by her face being pressed against her pillow. Ismelda really was crying. 

Merula stood there, feeling like she should do something but uncertain what to say, before she retreated to the common room without a word. A line of people had begun to trickle out the door, most likely headed to the Great Hall for supper, but Lizard sat waiting on the sofa. “Is she alright?” she asked. 

Merula shrugged, unusually disconcerted. “I don’t know.” 

Lizard gave her a concerned look, which for some reason annoyed her. 

“Look, I’ll handle it,” she said, “so you just carry on. It’s probably something stupid anyway.” 

“If you say so,” Lizard said, sounding unconvinced, but she followed the others out the door. 

Merula took her seat on the sofa to wait, and only once it was quiet and deserted did Ismelda finally come out. Her puffy red eyes were half-hidden behind her greasy black hair, and she had pulled up her scarf to cover her mouth. “There you are,” Merula said, as if she didn’t notice. “Where have you been all day?” 

“Around,” was her friend’s only answer. 

“Are you coming to dinner?” It hadn’t been the question Merula had wanted to ask, but she didn’t know what was. 

“In a bit. You go on ahead.” 

“Okay then.” Rapidly giving up on this conversation, Merula stood to leave. There was no point in wasting energy on something going nowhere. 

“Wait,” Ismelda said abruptly, causing her to halt midstride. “If you see Lilianna, tell her we need to talk when I get there.” 

Merula wasn’t sure she had heard her right. “Flores? You want to talk with Flores?” 

“Not really, but yes.” 

“Why?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“Uh, yes, it does matter. Have you lost your mind? You practically tried to kill her last month!” 

Ismelda pulled her scarf up even higher, hiding most of her face. “It doesn’t matter right now. Right now, I want to be alone.” 

Merula crossed her arms. “Fine,” she growled. “Be alone.” 

When Ismelda didn’t react like she had expected, she stormed out in the direction of the Great Hall. Someone there would tell her what had happened. Because if Flores was involved, then it was big…and it was most likely trouble. 

Finding information, however, proved to be much more difficult than she had thought possible, considering that stories and rumors spread across the House tables faster than Bundimun spread across dirt. The chatter tonight was so loud that she could barely hear her own thoughts, yet it mysteriously died down when she came near. She started at the Slytherin table, and that yielded almost nothing. It seemed that everyone she talked to hadn’t been in the Courtyard that day, or if they had, they didn’t reveal it. When she asked about rumors, there were several ducked heads and lowered eyes, but _apparently_ no one had heard anything. 

Finally, one irritated seventh-year said, “Ask the Gryffindors. They’re the ones that have been gloating about teaching us not to mess with them.” 

She glanced over at the Gryffindor table to witness a number of watchful gazes immediately find more interest in their food. The few that made eye contact smirked at her. Of course it was the Gryffindors. They were smug housecats that thought they were lions—all of them, and from their involvement alone Merula had a better idea of what had happened. 

Still, like with the Slytherins, she was given no clear answer when she pressed them for information. They hadn’t been there, they hadn’t heard anything, they suddenly had somewhere else to be…some courageous House they were. 

Merula was about ready to use a more forceful method of persuasion when she spotted a Ravenclaw Prefect at the end of the Slytherin table, standing in conversation with Lizard. She locked eyes with Flores, and the Prefect raised her eyebrows before saying farewell to her friend and strolling over to Merula. 

“What did you do to Ismelda?” Merula demanded without preamble. “She’s acting stranger than normal.” 

Flores’ blue eyes widened. “Nothing. I haven’t done anything.” 

“Well, what happened then? You were there.” 

“How’d you know that?” 

Merula actually hadn’t known. She had guessed, and Flores had just confirmed it. “Ismelda wants to talk with you. Why? She hates you.” 

Flores looked at her innocently. “I have no clue. Maybe to talk about earlier? But I would have expected her to tell…” She trailed off when Merula’s expression hardened. Ismelda hadn’t told her anything. No one was telling her anything. 

“I’m asking you,” Merula snapped. “What. Happened.” 

Flores hesitated. “I think it would be better if she told you herself.” 

“I’m not looking for gossip here! She’s _my_ friend.” 

“All the more reason you should work it out together.” 

Merula wanted to argue further, but she lost what she was going to say when she saw Ismelda enter and take a seat far away from everyone else at the table. Flores followed her gaze. “I’ll go see what she wants,” she said and walked away with an offer of, “Good luck.” 

“You’re the one that’s going to need it,” Merula muttered, but she doubted Flores had heard her. She watched the Ravenclaw sit down and the two begin to talk with confidential postures, but she had to look away when they began to eat together like they were friends or something. 

She took a breath, catching herself. How much time Merula had been spending with Flores this year is exactly what had prompted an argument with Ismelda last month, and it had been ridiculous. It was even more ridiculous for Merula now to be the one getting worked up. It wasn’t like Ismelda was gossiping behind her back. 

Gossip. Merula scanned the heads at the Hufflepuff table and quickly caught sight of the blond braids she had been looking for. Penny Haywood was a library of every rumor that whispered through Hogwarts’ halls, but she never dispensed one unless it was true. And she was Merula’s best bet. She caught the Hufflepuff right as she was leaving the table and drew her over to the fireplace. 

“Merula?” she asked in confusion. “Did something happen with the Vault?” 

“No. I want to know what happened in the Courtyard earlier.” 

Penny looked disappointed, and her gaze lingered on where Flores sat with Ismelda before she said, “I suppose you’ll hear about it eventually. There was quite a crowd.” 

“Right, which is why there is no reason I shouldn’t get the most accurate version now,” Merula persuaded. 

“I won’t deny that. I wasn’t there when it started, but it sounds like Ismelda accidentally bumped into a Gryffindor seventh-year—Emily Tyler,” her normally kind face twisted when she said the name, “without apologizing.” 

Merula wrinkled her nose as well. She had no love or respect for Emily Tyler. The witch created a false appearance of power from fear and gossip, but there was no real power in her precarious popularity. If the cowards that pretended to laugh at her cruel jokes actually grew spines, then she would be nothing. Merula herself could be cruel, but at least her power was based on actual strength rather than lies. She could back up her threats. Emily on the other hand… 

She vaguely remembered that Emily and Penny had fought to lead the decorating committee for the Celestial Ball the previous year, and the competition had turned nasty, mostly on account of Emily. Merula had voted for Penny simply because she hadn’t wanted the other witch to win. 

“Emily stole her diary,” Penny continued, “and decided to humiliate her by reading it aloud. It wasn’t pretty.” 

Merula stiffened. “Which part?” she asked. 

“Pardon?” 

“What did she read?” 

Penny looked uncertain, and Merula thought that she almost wasn’t going to answer. But then she said, “It was…it was a love letter.” 

Merula gritted her teeth as a sickening mixture of fury and dread roiled inside her. “That’s all I needed to hear,” she said darkly. And it was. She had told Ismelda that her crush on Barnaby was ridiculous and that keeping a diary was stupid and risky, and now look where it had gotten her. 

Alarm flashed across Penny’s face. “I’ve already told Professor McGonagall about the whole thing,” she said quickly, “so it will be dealt with. Please don’t do anything you’ll regret.” 

Merula was already turning away. “Oh, don’t worry,” she said, faintly surprised by her concern, “I’ll do exactly what needs to be done.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has all the pettiness and cliche dialogue of a bad high school drama. I have no regrets, mostly because I kept having to pause to laugh.

The next morning, she found Bill Weasley at the Training Grounds as expected. His long red hair was visible from across the field, as were the blinding flashes of the spells he sent flying into the training dummies. As usual, his robes were nowhere to be seen, and sweat dampened his white shirt and caused his fringe to cling to his forehead.

“Bill,” she said by way of greeting, “you’re a Gryffindor.”

“Well spotted,” he chuckled good-naturedly, launching another spell. The dummy teetered dangerously.

She rolled her eyes. “Do you know Emily Tyler?”

His face blanched, and his arm jerked, sending his next spell straight up in the air like a distress signal.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said.

He lowered his wand and looked at her warily, his ears turning pink. “I mean, every Gryffindor knows her to some degree…”

“Where does she hang out?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I want to find her.”

“I gathered that much, yes.”

“Just answer the question,” she said irately.

“I see her around the Courtyard and the Three Broomsticks often,” he responded slowly.

“Yeah, along with the rest of the school. I need times.”

“How would I know that?”

“You avoid her, don’t you? So you know. What time is she normally at the Courtyard?”

He didn’t answer, looking distressed, so she took a stab at his silence. “Right now? Is she there right now?” His distress visibly increased. Bingo. “Thanks for the help,” she said with a smirk and began to stroll back across the field in the direction of the castle.

A larger, heavier pair of footsteps rushed through the grass after her. “Wait, wait, wait,” he exclaimed. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to find Emily Tyler.”

“But what are you going to do when you find her?”

She bit her lip, fighting back a smile, and waved a hand dismissively. “It doesn’t concern you.”

He used his long legs to move a step ahead of her and pointed to the red badge pinned to his shirt. “As a Prefect, any suspicious activity concerns me.”

“You’re a Gryffindor Prefect.”

“ _Any_ suspicious activity.”

“Report me then.”

Clearly at a loss, he fell back behind her, but she could still hear his footsteps and the repeated muttering of, “This is a bad idea. Whatever this is, it’s a bad idea.”

The Courtyard was crowded when she reached it, but Emily Tyler in her sickeningly pink outfit was all too easy to spot. The witch was perched on the edge of the fountain like a queen on a throne, attended by all her cooing lackies. In other words, she was center stage. That was perfect.

Bill skidded to a halt as Merula marched out into the open and theatrically drew her wand, and just as predicted, the people around her scattered, creating a stage of her own. “Emily Tyler!” she roared. “Come and face me like a real witch!”

Silence descended over the entire area, allowing her words to hang in the air. Emily’s companions jumped to their feet, and a few began to edge away nervously. Queen Billywig herself, however, remained seated, and she was quick to mold her features into an expression of haughty disinterest. “Oh, look,” she purred, like a cat stretching, “it’s a little snake. Didn’t your parents teach you that it’s rude to point your wand at your superiors?” She smirked. “Oh, wait…”

Merula grinned dangerously. “My parents taught me a lot of things. I would be more than happy to teach them to you too.” A murmur ran up and down the crowd around them, and the people closest to Merula stepped even farther back.

Emily rolled her eyes. “Is this about that ugly friend of yours? I was doing her a favor. I told her no one would want to date a greasy-haired, spotty-faced git like her—spared her the heartbreak ahead of time. You could use the same advice, considering you look like you’re always under the Cruciatus Curse. Overplay the tragedy card much?”

Merula bit her tongue, simultaneously biting down on a spike of anger. _Not yet. Not yet._ “You’re the one to talk,” she scoffed. “You dress like some toad-faced old hag.”

Emily’s nose began to wrinkle, but she played it off with a mock yawn. “Tell me, do all Slytherins send their friends to fight their battles for them, or is your friend just that much of a coward?”

“Nope, I’m here all on my own. This isn’t about Ismelda. This is about you and me.”

“Me and you?” She laughed with the sweetness of a poisoned Sugar Quill. “I suppose you see me as competition. ‘The Most Powerful Witch at Hogwarts,’ isn’t that was you call yourself? How cute.”

“Still wrong. You’re about as much competition as a declawed Kneazle. I’m about to send you running home with your tail between your legs, kitty cat.”

Emily raised an eyebrow and lazily rose to her feet. “Really running with the House imagery, aren’t you? Well, I’m hearing a lot of hissing but don’t see any fangs, little snake. I don’t think you have the guts to bite. Or the skill.”

Now Merula grinned broadly. “I’m so glad you said that. _Flipendo!_ ”

“ _Protego!_ ” Emily blocked her spell with a single, graceful wave of her wand, and her following smug expression spoke volumes. “Ha!” she laughed again. “Is that all you—”

“ _Slugulus Eructo!_ ”

The seventh-year clearly hadn’t been expecting her to cast another spell, and she only had enough time to widen her eyes before the jet of light hit her square in the chest. She immediately doubled over and vomited on the spot, and the members of her posse that hadn’t fled at the first spell inched away in disgust as a handful of small, slimy slugs splattered over the stone floor. That’s what she got for not taking things seriously. Had she known Merula, she would have known that every fight was a duel, and Merula took every duel seriously.

“Who’s all talk now?” Merula gloated. “But don’t let the fact that you just got bit by a fifth-year upset you. I _am_ the Most Powerful Witch at Hogwarts.”

A pair of strong hands suddenly grabbed her arms and pulled them uncomfortably behind her back. “I think that’s enough,” Bill hissed in her ear.

She struggled against his solid grip. “No! I’m not done!” she hissed back, but he didn’t budge.

Emily spat out another slug, her expression somewhere between overwhelming fury and absolute misery. “You’ll pay!” she tried to shout, but the end of her words dissolved into a strangled gurgling as she fell to her hands and knees to vomit up more slugs.

“Oh, yeah?” Merula said sardonically. “Are you gonna make me, or are you gonna get those invisible friends of yours to do it for you?”

“Bill, do something!” Emily wailed.

“You want me to let go of her?” he exclaimed.

“I do!” Merula growled, yanking against his grip. “Because we’re not done here until I drill it into that pretty little head that you don’t mess with Slytherins, you don’t mess with my friends, and you don’t mess with _me!_ You hear that, you bitch!”

“Okay, language is not helping,” Bill said uncomfortably.

She continued to squirm despite the obvious difference in their physical strength. She was short and admittedly rather scrawny while he was tall, broad-shouldered, and lean-muscled, so it was by pure accident that she was at the perfect height to jab an elbow right between his legs. He released her with a choked groan.

“That goes to everyone!” she roared, brandishing her wand threateningly in the air. “Especially everyone that gets in my way! I’ll make you regret it!”

The few people that had been smiling or laughing quickly ducked their heads. Emily didn’t say anything. She was too busy gagging on slug slime.

“What is going on here?” a stern voice boomed. The crowd fled with squeaks and shouts of alarm, and half the Courtyard was vacated within seconds, leaving behind only a smattering of eager onlookers, as well as Emily, Merula, Bill, and…Professor McGonagall.

Merula sighed and put her wand back up her sleeve, reattaching it to the strap on her arm. She had been wondering when a teacher would show up. It had been inevitable.

The Deputy Headmistress glared down at all of them. “Well? One of you better offer up an explanation.” Her eyes fixed on Merula. “Ms. Snyde.”

“How much did you see, Professor?” Merula asked calmly.

“I saw enough.”

“Then I have nothing to add.”

McGonagall narrowed her eyes. “Ms. Snyde, you have been at this school more than long enough to know that dueling is against the rules. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Merula had to fight back a smile again. Saying she would gladly do it again probably wouldn’t help the situation. “No, Professor.”

“Then I have no choice but to take twenty points from Slytherin.” Twenty points? For McGonagall, that was showing mercy. “I don’t suppose you regret your actions?”

On another day, Merula would have attempted to be placating and to smooth talk a lesser punishment, but she had failed to hide her smile, meaning that wouldn’t work. “No, Professor.”

McGonagall sighed. “I thought as much. Seeing that you have so much pent-up energy, we clearly need to give it a more productive direction than Mr. Weasley’s…well…” Her lips twitched, almost as if in amusement. Surely that hadn’t been a joke? “A week of detention in the Kitchens ought to be fitting.”

That was less of a mercy, and Merula’s smile slipped into a grimace.

“That’s all?” Emily exclaimed in dismay. “She deserves to rot down there!”

McGonagall looked at her impassively and then scanned the lingering remains of the crowd. “Let it be known that Ms. Tyler’s recent behavior has not gone unnoticed and will not be tolerated,” she announced. “Fifty points from Gryffindor. My apologies, Mr. Weasley.”

Bill grimaced as well, but said, “I understand, Professor. I’m sorry you have to punish your own House.”

“That’s not fair!” Emily cried. “I’m the victim!” She demonstrated this by spitting up more slugs.

“I have no doubt you’ll earn the points back in no time,” McGonagall said to Bill. “And you can start by escorting Ms. Tyler to the Hospital Wing.”

Bill paled, as if he had been asked to escort a Chimaera rather than a witch suffering from the Slug-Vomiting Charm.

“House Points, Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall said again.

“Yes, Professor,” Bill acknowledged and reluctantly hauled Emily to her feet. She promptly vomited slugs and slime all over his shoes, and he half-carried her into the castle with a poorly disguised groan. Merula felt a little bad for him. Just a little.

“I hope you realize that there are consequences to your actions,” McGonagall told her, “no matter how noble or misguided the intent.”

“I’ll apologize to him,” Merula offered.

“It’s a start. Just so you are aware, the same conditions with the points apply to you. Depending on what you accomplish in detention, you may be allowed to earn some of them back—so long as this never happens again. I will not be as lenient if there is another time. I shouldn’t have been lenient _this_ time for that matter.” 

“It won’t happen again,” she promised. “I think everyone’s learned their lesson.”

McGonagall gave her another stern look, easily catching the double meaning in her words. “Let us hope so.”


	3. Chapter 3

About an hour later, Bill found her on a bench in a corridor somewhere between the Courtyard and the Great Hall, which was consequentially not far from the Hospital Wing. Merula hadn’t been intentionally waiting on him. McGonagall had told her to remain somewhere in the west lower floor so that Filch could inform her when it was time for her to head to detention. She hadn’t felt like making small talk in the Great Hall, even if she was interested in what the gossip was saying now, so she had found a quiet hall and made herself comfortable.

Bill beelined for her when he saw her, and the serious expression on his face was slightly offset by the glistening slug slime that was still on his shoes and shirt. She pointed at it. “Uh, you have a little—”

“I know,” he said tersely.

“Do you know it’s really gross?”

He glared at her. “You’re dead.”

“Is that a threat?” she asked with genuine curiosity. She didn’t think Bill Weasley issued threats.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “What? No. I mean Emily. She’s mad. Really mad. I haven’t seen someone that furious since my brothers dressed up the family Ghoul in Mum’s best dress. You just painted a huge target on your back.”

Merula smirked. “I’d like to see her try. I’ll send her back to the Hospital Wing.”

“I’m not talking about dueling. The lies she spreads—”

“What can she do?” she snapped, suddenly irritated. “Call me mad? Tell everyone I’m just like my parents? Make sure I’ll never be popular? Old news, Weasley. She can’t touch me.”

He gazed at her disbelievingly. “Her words can still hurt,” he said.

Merula blew out an annoyed breath at her fringe, and when that didn’t move the loose strands of hair, she tucked them behind her ear. “I don’t care about what anyone says. All I care about is getting stronger and finding the Cursed Vaults, and nice words aren’t going to help me achieve that faster.”

“If you say so,” he said slowly, sounding remarkably like Lizard from the previous day, and it sent a thorn of some sharp, burning emotion through her chest. But as quick as the thorn appeared, it vanished when he added humorously, “You know, you may just make a good Gryffindor.”

“Merlin forbid,” she scoffed but silently accepted the poor attempt at a compliment. Bill Weasley was nothing more than acquaintance to her, another one of Rakepick’s apprentices, but she respected him enough to not hate his presence, even if she would never admit it aloud. And if he was daft enough to think he needed to check up on her, then, well…she could tolerate that too.

* * * *

“Merula? What are you doing here? Does Rakepick need something?”

Merula stared flatly at Flores. “No, I just wanted to see how the other half lives,” she deadpanned.

Flores looked at her uncertainly, as if she couldn’t tell if Merula was being serious or not. The Ravenclaw had one hand braced flat against one of the long kitchen tables and held a tuna salad-covered butter knife in the other. The Gryffindor Jae Kim stood at her side, poking a loaf of bread with his finger but making no move to convert it into a sandwich. Both of them were dressed casually—Flores in a black denim jacket and jeans and Jae in his gold hoodie and track bottoms. Merula glanced at the large fires heating the pots at the end of the room and fought the urge to tug at her collar. She should have changed out of her robes before coming down here, but in her defense, she was used to the Dungeons being cold.

She rolled her eyes. “I have detention. What else?”

“What did you do?” Flores asked in surprise. “You never get caught.”

“I may have hit Emily Tyler with the Slug-Vomiting Charm. In front of a large crowd. And Professor McGonagall.” Just saying it aloud was enough to make Merula start smiling again.

“That’s a horrible thing to do!” Flores exclaimed seriously, although the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth said something else entirely. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

“Not even Emily Tyler?”

“It is wrong to wish that on anyone,” Flores amended without answering the question.

“But, hey,” Jae said, “it already happened, so it’s not like you can take it back.”

Flores bit her lip, still trying really hard not to smile. “I mean, you’re not wrong…”

“You see, this is why you two are stuck down here,” Merula said. “You have no subtlety.”

“Uh, you’re stuck down here with us,” Flores pointed out.

“Only for a week,” Merula sighed. “We all have to make sacrifices sometimes.”

Jae huffed. “Is she going to be annoying and complain the whole time?” he asked.

Flores gazed at him strangely. “ _You_ complain the whole time.”

“I never said I didn’t.”

“Less talking!” a squat House-Elf ordered. He was standing on one of the tables and was brandishing a rather large knife in their direction. “Pitts wants to see more sandwiches! And more misery!”

“Jae, that’s not a pan! That is not a pan!” Flores whispered in alarm, to Merula’s confusion.

“I know,” Jae whispered back in equal seriousness. “Just don’t make eye contact. Keep your head down. Look miserable.” The two quickly hunched over the table, and Jae finally began to cut the bread while Flores continued spreading the tuna salad.

 _That won’t be hard,_ Merula thought with distaste as Flores passed her another loaf of bread. She spent enough time in the kitchen when she had to cook for herself at home; she wouldn’t enjoy working in the one at Hogwarts too.

They made sandwiches in silence for a while, and Merula’s nose stayed wrinkled throughout the task. Maybe she was confirming what Emily had said about looking like she was always under the Cruciatus Curse, but she couldn’t help it. She _hated_ tuna salad.

Then Flores murmured, “Have you spoken with Ismelda?”

Merula let several beats pass before she answered. “No. I saw you with her in Defense Against the Dark Arts though. You’ve been with her a lot in the past two days.” She tried not to sound bitter, but she didn’t think she succeeded.

“Well, that’s over with now,” Flores said. “I don’t know if it means anything, but I think she should be ready to talk to you.”

Merula didn’t answer. She wasn’t quite sure what that meant coming from Flores. Ismelda was her friend, not the Ravenclaw’s.

“You know,” Flores continued with some humor, “when I stood up to you the first time, people started calling me the Hero of Hogwarts.”

“Wow, thanks,” Merula said dryly.

“I’m just saying, you stood up to Emily Tyler, so I guess that makes you a Hero of Hogwarts too.”

Jae blew out an amused breath through his nose. “That’s ironic.”

Merula took a moment to glare at him before she said, “I don’t like sharing, especially with you Flores, but ‘Hero of Hogwarts’ isn’t bad.”

“There’s that, or there’s Slug Queen,” Flores teased.

“Call me that and see what happens, I dare you.”

“Okay, okay. Most Powerful Witch and Hero of Hogwarts it is.”

“That’s right, and don’t you forget it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is kind of unrelated, but I made a really interesting discovery that I wanted to pass along to other Hogwarts Mystery fans (or you may already know this since I'm always late to the party). I paused in the middle of writing this chapter to look up pictures of Jae for reference, but I fell down the rabbit hole to discover that Penny and Merula allegedly had recorded lines of dialogue. All the files I found were deleted except for one, which sounds like Merula saying "No thank you," and I can't tell if it's fan-made or from something else. I did, however, find a Google Drive folder of music and sound effects from the game (including the professors talking). I'd thought I would mention it in case you didn't know and/or are better at finding stuff than me.


	4. Chapter 4

Ismelda and Lizard were the only ones in the dormitory when Merula returned to Slytherin House that night. Ismelda was stretched out on her bed with her eyes closed and her arms behind her head, although she appeared to still be awake. Lizard sat cross-legged on her own bed with a book in her hands, and her eyes slid to Merula when she entered. Merula jerked her chin at the door, and Lizard nodded and left without a word.

Ismelda opened one eye, most likely at their footsteps, and she sat up with a frown when she saw Merula. “Where have you been?” she asked. “And why do you smell like tuna?”

“Detention,” Merula said. She unbuttoned her robes and cast the cumbersome garment on her bed. For Merlin’s sake…Ismelda wasn’t wrong; even her shirt smelled like tuna. If she saw another horrid sandwich she would vomit, and she doubted slugs would be the thing coming up.

“What?” Ismelda’s frown deepened in confusion. “Why?”

“You haven’t heard? That’s disappointing.” Merula stripped off her tainted cardigan and dress shirt and replaced them with a plain black t-shirt. “I had expected everyone to know by now.”

“What are you talking about?”

She rubbed the fabric of her skirt between her fingers and decided with a repressed sigh that it would be better if she just sent all of her clothes to be washed. She continued changing and didn’t bother to address Ismelda until she had pulled on a comfortable pair of trousers. “Well, you _would_ know,” she said finally, “if you thought I was worth talking to.”

Ismelda narrowed her eyes. “I heard someone sent Emily Tyler to the Hospital Wing.”

“Is that so?” Merula said with mock astonishment. “I haven’t heard a thing.”

“Cut that out,” Ismelda snapped. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have laughed too.”

“Oh, most definitely,” Merula said without hesitation. “But not like that.” She sat down beside her on the bed, and they both stared straight ahead, neither looking at the other. “Look, I told you it was a bad idea—the diary, Barnaby, all of it, and I was right.”

“I don’t need to hear this…”

“ _But_ that’s because I didn’t want something like this to happen. Had you just come to me, we could’ve dealt with Tyler together.”

“You don’t get it,” Ismelda said fiercely. “I don’t care about that cow. What she said, what anybody thinks, it doesn’t matter.” She paused and then added, “Even if they are right.”

What Bill had said earlier echoed in Merula’s head: _Her words can still hurt._ And with it, the thorn reappeared in her chest, poking right between her ribs. Rather than comment on this, however, she said, “Then whatever. I still could’ve done a better job than Flores.”

“You think Barnaby’s an idiot.”

“Well, yeah, but I still could’ve done a better job.” Ismelda didn’t respond or look at her, so she hesitantly prompted, “What happened? She play matchmaker or something?”

“Or something.”

“How’d that go?”

Ismelda wrapped her arms around herself. “We’re going to stay friends. Just friends.”

“He really is an idiot.”

“It doesn’t matter. You were right. I was being stupid.”

“I never thought I would say this, but I don’t want to be right all the time,” Merula admitted. “And they’re not right either—what they’re saying.”

Ismelda shook her head. “We’re not nice people, Merula. It’s not very attractive.”

That was the truth, and it didn’t sit well with Merula. She pushed down the spike of unwanted emotion and pointed out, “You said you don’t care what anybody thinks.”

“I did, didn’t I,” Ismelda said quietly.

“I mean, that’s why we’re friends. We don’t care.”

Ismelda took a breath, and instead of acknowledging her words, she said slowly, “Do you ever wonder that, if you were nicer, she might like you? You know, not just…” She trailed off.

Merula stiffened as unexplained adrenaline rushed to her limbs and burned the back of her throat. “Never say that aloud again!” she snarled. “I never want…just…never!”

“Fine,” Ismelda sighed. “Like I said, it doesn’t matter. We can’t exactly change things now.”

“That’s right,” Merula said firmly. But for some reason that didn’t sit well either. Ismelda hung her head, and Merula thought she heard a sniff. “Hey, you’re not crying again, are you?” she asked, bumping her shoulder with her own.

“No,” Ismelda said unconvincingly.

“Well, good, because you hate emotion and that would be weird.”

Ismelda sniffed again, and Merula shoved her shoulder a second time, more playfully, in a way that caused her body to gently rock. She continued the motion, and after a few seconds of being subjected to its awkwardness, Ismelda laughed softly.

“Finally!” Merula exclaimed, and then she lay back perpendicular across the bed with her arms beneath her head. “I’m not joking; you are weird.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Ismelda said smugly and then lay back too.

“Of course you would.”

And they continued to lie there for a long while, just the two of them, side-by-side in comfortable silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are familiar with my other stories, then you have probably guessed that my favorite thing is writing characters whose words need to be taken with a grain of salt. I love writing Merula and Ismelda because their opinions and worldviews differ so much from my own that it is interesting to get inside their heads and see things from their points-of-view. Merula is especially fun to write because she has the remarkable ability to evade questions and only reveal what she wants to reveal. Consequently, this means that when it matters most she either says what she doesn’t mean or says the wrong thing. 
> 
> TLDR: I’m rambling about what I find enlightening and a fun challenge, but I hope there are others that do too.


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